The day is heron grey -
no gaudy plumage
of sun and shade.
Feathery mist
hangs on treetops
and silent hedgerows.
Light winds bring
waves of soft rain
from monochrome skies.
Water swells and drips
from closed buds
and bare branches.
Brown grass
and rusty beech leaves
hide sleeping seeds.
Like a watchful heron,
on a stone by the river,
Spring is poised.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very nice, simplistic yet quite powerful.